


Wile away the hours

by Korilian



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Delusions, Gen, M/M, deathfic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korilian/pseuds/Korilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Sam. Locked in a room</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wile away the hours

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Although I consider this fic Gen in the sense that there is no relationship between the characters, Chris has an obvious crush on Sam.
> 
> This fic was written for the 2006 LOM ficathon. My prompt was: Chris and Sam. Locked in a room.

Hour three; May seventh 1973 - 13.06

A loud rhythmic thumping wormed its way into his skull, bringing a bright blue explosion of sparks with them. Chris made a face and tried to burry his head in his pillow. He flinched at a particular loud bang and the muffled curse that followed. He’d been expecting the swearing, but it didn’t sound like his old dad going on at the construction workers.

The pillow also didn’t seem as fluffy as he was used to and it didn’t have the comfortable smell of his own bed head and his mums soap either. It was oddly familiar though.

He breathed in deeply, finally recognizing the odd mix of shaving gel and soap and something he could never quite define, but reminded him of promise in a strange way.

Oh.

So it was one of those dreams then.

Except he was only now starting to identify the feeling in his brain as agony and the dreams never featured pain. Not the ones he acknowledged in his waking hours at least.

He opened his eyes.

The pleasant scent that invaded his nostrils wasn’t caused by him cuddling up with a certain someone, but by the fact that he was lying on said someone’s leather jacket. He turned around, wincing at the movement and watched what appeared to be DI Sam Tyler throw himself bodily against a rusty steel door.

Wasn’t that an odd thing to do.

He took a moment to assure himself that he really was awake and then stubbornly pushed back the... er... nightmares. Right that’s what they were.

“Boss?” Now didn’t that sound pitiful. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Boss? What’s going on then?”

Sam halted his charge, resting his palms and head against the steel surface. “Chris. Thank God.” He pushed away from the door and crouched down at his side, “You were starting to worry me.”

Chris started to get up only to get gently, but firmly pushed down again. He blinked, wondering what kind of penalty worrying a senior officer warranted. Tyler seemed more easy going then the Guv, but also tougher in other regards. No second chances with him if Ray was anything to go by. “I didn’t mean to.” He said nervously.

It didn’t seem to be the right sort of answer. Sam’s glowered, his face taking on even more shadow somehow. He wondered why the boss hadn’t put on a lamp or something. It was sort of dark in here.

“What’s the last thing you remember Chris?”

He hesitated, trying to think back. He wished the boss would go a little easy on him. He’d just woken up. Hadn’t even had a cuppa yet!  
Now what had they been doing? There had been the hold up at a liquor store. The guv had told Tyler to check it out and he’d gotten to come along, because Sam had been doing that a lot lately. Bringing him along on cases, when he wasn’t working with the guv. Especially now Chris wasn’t riding with Ray a lot, on account of his troubles.

And he’d been driving too! He never got to drive, but they’d been using his dads car which had made Sam roll his eyes and mutter something about proper procedure when he’d found out, but it was a nice car. All white and spotless and....

“Oh.”

A very clear picture of his dad’s pride and joy ramming the right hind side of a beat up blue Chevrolet played very clearly across his minds eye. “We hit the crooks.” He whispered horrified.

Sam grimaced. “Yes. That might have been overdoing it a bit, really.”

He seemed to be under the impression that Chris had done it on purpose and Chris decided not to dissuade him of the notion, since the only thing that was more pathetic then ramming the bad guys in a car chase, was ramming them because you lost control of the wheel for just a wee bit.

“I wrecked the car.” His dad was gonna kill him. And burry him. And there sure as hell wouldn’t be tears at the funeral.

“No, no. Well, you wrecked their car, but it was a good hit.” Sam messed up his short hair distractedly, “Textbook.”

Chris had never seen a textbook that explained how to run cars of the road, but Sam seemed to know a lot of things he’d never heard about and it was usually a matter of choosing between just taking his word for it or disregarding it as the ramblings of a crazy man.  
“So the car is all right.” He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Er. In the physical sense. Mostly.” Sam straightened up from his crouch, with a slight look of discomfort on his face. “They took the car Chris.”

 

Hour five; May seventh - 15.36

Chris was still on the ground, though Sam had propped him up against one of the walls now and wouldn’t let him go back to sleep, because he might have a concussion.

So far attempts to keep him awake had included making him do calculations, which were never his strong suit, making him sing, though Sam had quickly put an end to that again once he’d started in on his Elton John ensemble and most effectively the fact that he was trapped in a room with a steel door and a very determined DI trying to tear the thing down with his bare hands.

A loud thump was followed by an extremely loud curse. Sam gave the door one last vicious kick and then sunk down against it, rubbing his right shoulder. “All right, that’s not going to work.”

Chris blinked tiredly. He’d determined that over an hour ago himself, but if he’d learned one thing about Sam Tyler in the short time the man had been working at the station, it was that he never backed down. Door vs. Copper; 1-0.

The boss might have been making an ass of himself by picking a fight with a steel door, Chris was the one that was feeling like a total div. The crash might have been textbook, whatever that meant, but they’d been the ones that came out of it worse. He’d had a close encounter with the steering wheel, while Sam had gotten trapped by a sticking seatbelt. He’d still been fighting to get loose when one of the robbers had made it to their car and knocked him out.  
“It looks a bit like one of those old brick ovens.” He said.

Sam gave the room a cursory room, picking up a broken piece of half brick from the rubble. “You might be right. Huh. I figured it was just debris.” He tossed it back down and followed the cloud of dust that swirled up on impact, with his eyes. “God what I wouldn’t give for a mobile right now.”

“A mobile what?” Chris asked curiously.

“Phone.” He answered distractedly, pushing himself upright, still carefully following the dust flecks. “There’s light coming from somewhere. And if it is an oven, there should be a smoke channel at the very least.”

Chris followed his movements across the chamber, watching how Sam moved his hands methodically across the rough walls. He caught himself staring and quickly averted his eyes upwards. “It’s coming from up there.” He said. “Almost straight above me.”

“Yeah.”

He scuttled out of the way slightly as Sam halted mere inches to his left, his neck craned to see upwards.

“It’s quite a bit up.” He seemed to hesitate, shooting a quick look down at him before giving the room a cursory look over.

“Maybe we should build a stair from half bricks.” Chris joked.  
It earned him another concerned stare that made Chris glower. He was well aware he wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the box and could be a bit of a klutz at times, but he wasn’t a totally thick. He’d made the crime squad after all! And anyway, Sam Tyler was the last person to have pull faces at occasional odd remark. Everyone knew his noggin had been scrambled a bit harder then his brain could handle in his accident. “It was a joke. I was joking.”

“Might be something in here we can use though.”

Chris sighed. Of course everybody also knew he had no sense of humour to speak of. Killer combination. He closed his eyes and snuggled up a bit under the leather jacket that had since long been draped over his chest.

“Chris, don’t go to sleep. Give me a list of all the police codes!”

His eyes snapped open again and he groaned, “Code 9...”

 

Hour 14; May eight 1973 – 0.01

“I wonder how long it’s been.” Sam had spend hours nagging Chris and searching through the rubble for anything that might be able to be of use, although Chris suspected this was more out of sheer stubbornness then the actual hope he’d find something useful. He’d only given up when it finally became to dark to see Settling down next to Chris. “It was about ten when we left the station.”

“You’ll be able to check your watch in the morning.” Chris bit out. He was feeling grouchy. He knew it wasn’t fair on Sam since the boss only kept talking to keep him awake and that they were in this together. But he was tired, cold, thirsty, his stomach hadn’t stopped grumbling for hours and his head was throbbing painfully.  
Sam tried to rub his arms casually in the dark, but Chris still noticed and immediately felt guilty. He slipped off the leather and handed it over. “Here.”

The offered jacket kept hanging in the air, “Keep it. We need to keep you warm.”

“It’s not gonna do us any good if you get sick tonight.” He said stubbornly.

“I’m sure they’ll find us by tomorrow.” Sam muttered, but finally accepted the jacket and quickly slipped it on. He shuffled closer to Chris, who froze at the sudden contact.  
“Relax. It’ll help if we share body heat. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Chris felt an inexplicable sense of regret at that.

 

Hour 20; May eight 1973 – 6.17

Chris yawned and stretched from his prone position on the floor, his frozen muscles protesting fervently. The boss had been quite persistent that he didn’t get to sleep for at least 24 hours and that they should just rough it out until Manchester’s crack team of investigators came to get them. They’d spend the night making awkward small talk, with Sam often jumping subjects in the middle of the conversation and sounding very frustrated about it somehow. Finally he’d settled for mostly listening and commenting on Chris’ life story. He wondered just what the deal was with Sam’s past that he felt the need to be so secretive about it. Made him wonder about Hyde too, wherever that was.

He glanced at the DI from the corner of his eye, daring to stare a bit more openly when he realized his eyes were closed. Not quite sleeping, but definitely dozing for a bit.

It was still hard to see. The first light coming in at an odd angle and not really doing a lot for visibility. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness though and Sam was close enough to make out his face in the dark. Deep shadows were playing around his eyes and cheekbones, making him look gaunt and sickly. For a moment sheer spitefulness tempted him to wake the man up. Get his own back for being kept up all night.

The exhausted DI shifted slightly, his head lolling sideways onto Chris’ shoulder, but not opening his eyes.  
Chris held his breath at the unusual contact. Suddenly the cold didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore.

Another sensation started to make itself known from his groin area. He shifted awkwardly before he realized with some relief that his body wasn’t responding to... er... thoughts of his girlfriend, right that’s what he’d been thinking about, but that he really, really had to pee very badly.

Right. So he’d just... stay stuck in this smallish room with a superior officer. He squirmed.

“Something wrong?” Beside him Sam opened a single eye, looking momentarily confused at his surroundings, before a look of guilt stole over him and he quickly sat up straight and away from Chris.

A small part of him hoped it was because of the near cuddling that had been going on, but the rational part of his brain told him the DI probably felt bad about dozing off.  
“I gotta pee.”

“Oh.” Sam worried his hair and rubbed his face and by now there was enough light in the room for Chris to make out the dark grimy streaks he left on his cheeks by doing so. “Well. Pick a corner.”

He scrambled to his feet, pleased when the waves of dizziness and pain proved manageable. Glancing left and right, he finally settled on the darkest corner of the room. He hadn’t managed to unzip his pants yet when a horrific memory from his ground school days flittered across his memory. Him and Billy Palmer and his dad out camping in the country. Bundled up in their tent at night, discussing how they’d survive if they got stranded out here alone. Robbing passing travellers had been part of the plan, but also...  
“Shouldn’t we er...” He felt incredibly stupid for even bringing it up, but he couldn’t help but worry about the fact that he was trapped and that the person he would have pegged as most likely to find him quickly was in the room with him.

“What?”

“Well. It’s just we’ve got no water or anything. We’re not gonna have to drink... well you know.” He blushed ferociously.

“A human adult can survive five to six days without water Chris. I’m sure they’ll find us way before that.” Sam smiled at him softly in that special way that was never really condescending. “And surviving by drinking urine is an urban myth. It’ll do more harm then good.”

This time he decided just to take his word for it, feeling oddly relieved him and Billy had never gotten lost.

He cast a quick look over his shoulder to ensure Sam was looking away before letting go, not entirely sure whether or not the worried look that flittered across his superiors face was real, or cast by shadows.

 

Hour 28; May eight 1973 – 14.46

Sam had become more active again as the day progressed. It was as if he was incapable of just kicking back and wait for the cavalry to come get them. He’d been using the growing light in the chamber to scurry through the rubble again, carefully avoiding the toilet corner. Chris had given him some half-hearted assistance; half certain they’d actually end up giving the stair idea a go if nothing better came up soon. Instead he had yanked loose a piece of rebar from the ground with a cry of joy.

The last five hours had been wasted on chipping away the brickwork around the door. The man might as well have been trying to dig his way out of prison with a spoon.

Chris had been spending his time equally useful by building a makeshift bench out of half bricks. One night on the cold ground was quit enough as far as he was concerned. He was a bit unnerved by his own ready assumption that they wouldn’t be getting out of here today, but it was just something that had snuck up on him as the hours passed away.

Sam finally gave it a rest. Carefully placing the rebar against the wall so that he’d be able to find it again later and stretching carefully. He glanced from the bench to the whole high above them.  
“First step?” He asked amused.

“Something like that.” Chris muttered, finishing another layer. He wiped his hands on his brown pants and critically examined his little project. Wide enough for the both of them. It would probably sit more comfortable if he added another two layers, but he was pretty sure he’d used up the best bricks. He carefully sat down, stretching his legs. Much better. He shot the other man a smug look. “Care for a break?”

Sam laughed, sinking down next to him. “Don’t suppose you got around to building a fully stocked kitchen yet?”

“Sorry. A man’s gotta have his priorities.”

“True.” He shifted a bit trying out Chris’ handiwork. “God. What’s taking them so long! You don’t suppose Gene put Ray on the case do you?”

“Dunno. I reckon he would be looking for me at the very least.” Chris shot back, earning him a chuckle. “God. Why are we here?”

“42.”

“What?”

“42.” Sam repeated. “You wanted to know why we’re here. The answer is 42.”

“I don’t get it.” Chris had been wondering why the robbers had gone through all that trouble of locking them away, when they could have just dumped them on the street.

“It’s a story. See, there were these aliens.”

“In Manchester?” Chris was starting to regret asking for an explanation.

“No. Well... maybe Ray. Here in the universe I meant. So they build a giant computer.”

“What good’ll that do?” He interrupted.

“Computer are the future Chris. Deal with it.” Sam bit out through clenched teeth. “Now do you want to hear the story or not?” Chris was tempted to say no, but he had gotten curious despite himself.  
“Right so they build a supercomputer and asked it what the answer was to life, the universe and everything else.”

“And it told them 42?”

“First it told them it was gonna take millions of years.”

“And then it told them 42?”

Sam nodded.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s a joke. They got the answer, but they didn’t know what the question was.”

“Not a very good joke.” Chris said reproachfully. “Where’d you hear a story like that?”

Sam shrugged. “It was on the radio when I was a kid. It’s better when you hear it from the source I guess. I’m sure they’ll air it again sometime. Late seventies maybe.” He added as an afterthought.

“Why do you always do that?” Chris whined. He didn’t mean to, but it came out like that regardless. “You’re always telling stories, or talking about procedure. You never talk about yourself. Why won’t you ever talk about yourself? What’s the big secret?”

Sam hesitated and for a moment Chris was sure he was going to bull his way out answering. “I’ve found talking about myself makes people nervous.” He finally admitted.

Well there was a point. Even he had learned to close his ears whenever the DI went of on his little tangents. That was okay though. He often seemed to be talking to himself when he did anyway. But that was the occasional crazy talk. Chris was interested in the truth behind the crazynes. “You don’t even try. I mean, you’re what? Thirty something? What have you been doing all those years?” A spark of brilliance occurred to him. “What’s Hyde like?”

“Hyde?” Sam looked on the verge of laughing. “It’s very different.” He seemed to realize he wasn’t getting off with just that and pressed on. “The people are different. Everything is stricter. More proper. People play by the rules more in some ways and less in others.”

“Small town then?” Chris deduced sagely, picturing a pleasant little town where everyone knew everyone and men still tipped their hats for old ladies on the street.

That really did raise a chuckle, “Bit of a global village.”

“Is it better than our beat?” Chris asked genuinely interested. He’d heard in the grapevine that the DI had requested the transfer to Manchester, but so far he’d been fighting the guv every step of the way. He didn’t seem to like it here much, most days.

“In some ways. In others not so much.” He looked troubled admitting that. “It’s home you know.”

“Maybe I’ll visit it sometime.”

Sam finally cracked up for real. “I’m sure you will.” He managed between hiccups of laughter.

Chris crossed his arms over his knees confused. Maybe it was better to just stick to the stories after all.

 

Hour 35; May eight 1973 – 20.13

It never really got warm in this room, locked away from the sun like they were, but by now it was starting to get decidedly chilly again. They’d moved close again without comment as the light started to fade. There hadn’t been much talking lately anyway. Sam had stopped when he started to sound hoarse and Chris hadn’t tried to get him started again. Instead he kept swallowing convulsively, trying to produce some spittle in his parched mouth and licking his lips. He didn’t think he’d ever been this thirsty. Even the hunger was only a minor ache in comparison.

Sam had taken to chewing on the board of his shirt, claiming it fooled his stomach into thinking he was eating.

“You know, in Ancient Rome they used to have these women called the Vestal virgins. If they were caught with a man, they would bury them alive and wait a month. If they survived it was a sign the Gods’ had forgiven them. But the thing is, you can survive pretty long without food, but no one can survive a month without water.”

Chris wondered what the point of story was. Granted he could easily see the comparison between the two situations. Buried in the dark without food or water. He shivered. Maybe their situation had reminded the DI of the story. Maybe he just didn’t want to keep it inside. Have those thoughts all to himself. Alone in the dark.  
“Where’d you get that one from then?”  
If he’d thought Sam’s voice had sounded raw, his own sounded even worse to his ears. Combined with the soreness that came with talking he almost instantly regretted opening his mouth. Tales of buried virgins weren’t a good note to end the night on though.

“From a guide in Rome.” Sam sounded relieved to change the subject as well, so maybe Chris had been on the mark with his suspicions.

“Cor! You’ve been to Rome?” That was quite a difference from his own camping trips to Dorset!

“Yeah. Beautiful city. I recommend it.”

Chris pondered about that. He didn’t think you could easily afford a trip like that on a cop’s salary. Not on the straight and narrow and Sam definitely wasn’t the type to skim a bit of the sides. “Your folks must be living the comfy life then, if they can afford that.”

“My mum. Not really. Single mom and all.”

Best not to press about the missing dad probably. “That the farthest you’ve gone?”

“Nah. The farthest was Mexico... or Australia. What’s further you reckon?”

An awed silence followed.

 

Hour 44; May ninth 1973 – 4.59

Sam hadn’t been trying to keep him up this time, saying it was probably safe for him to catch a kip.

Despite the lack of sleep the day before they’d had a restless night. It was to cold to truly get comfortable, no matter how much he crawled away inside his jacket and how close to Sam he got.

He’d been sure he’d passed through the worst on the hunger front already. You couldn’t just keep getting more and more hungry could you? At some point your body just had to adapt to the fact that dinner wasn’t forthcoming right?

Dinner.

By his count they’d missed two dinners, two lunches and two breakfasts. He counted today’s breakfast even though he had the feeling it wasn’t quite time yet.

His gut cramped painfully. He bend over his tummy protectively, feeling as if his stomach would rip out of his body if he didn’t hold it in place with his hands. .

Third day and still no rescue. No wonder it’s always Litton that makes the paper he thought bitterly and could only muster a small amount of shame at betraying his team even in thought.

He determinedly rested his head back on Sam’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Maybe they’d be saved by the time he woke up again.

 

Hour 51; May ninth – 12.27

Sam was a great deal more listless today.  
Chris decided he preferred the stubborn yet pointless attempts of breaking out of this prison over this man resigned to his fate. Granted, the DI was putting on a very good show. Carefully hiding his discomfort and even having a few half hearted whacks at the door with the rebar, but it was clear to the naked eye that he just didn’t have the energy today.

In the end they ended up sitting side by side again, not talking because it had become ever more painful just to force words out of their dry throats.

The silence had driven another point very clearly home for Chris. Silence. Too much of it.

Not just inside, but outside as well.

No birds No cars. Certainly no people. No point in calling for help. The only one who’d hear was the wind.

 

Hour 63; May tenth 1973 – 0.11

Chris grimaced as another dry heave wracked Sam’s body. He’d been woken from his dozing by a loud coughing fit beside him, which had transformed to vomiting halfway. There wasn’t anything to throw up, but that didn’t stop the man's body from trying.

He wasn’t sure what to do about it. If they’d been plonks instead of blokes he could have held back his hair, like he saw the girls do for their friends sometimes, after they’d partied a little too hard at the dancing. He couldn’t even offer him a glass of water.

He hesitated only a moment before gently placed a hand on his back and rubbing slow circles, like his mum used to do for him. “Easy boss.” He croaked. Now that didn’t sound very comforting.

Sam finally managed to regain control of himself and fell back against the wall, trapping Chris’ arm behind him. He didn’t seem to notice.

Chris pulled his arm upwards and free, but left it draped around Sams’ shoulder.

“I wonder what time it is.” Talking didn’t get any easier, but he could have sworn he felt the DI relax slightly at the sound of his voice, so he pressed on. “Must almost be morning. It’s been ages since it got dark.” His voice sounded unnatural to his own ears. Like there was a life frog lodged in his throat, speaking through him.

“They’ll find us soon.” Sam replied quietly.

Chris really wanted to believe him. But a small voice in his head teased that the DI hadn’t sounded all that confident about it.

 

Hour 79; May tenth 1973 – 16.41

He was on a beach. The sand was pearl white between his toes and the sea and the sky were so blue they almost seemed to melt together in front of him. The only thing telling them apart were the seagulls in the sky and the fish in the water and then one of the fish just kept on swimming, going beyond the birds and he decided that maybe it really didn’t matter where one ended and the other began.  
He’d finally made it beyond Dorsett. He Just knew that this was Mexico. He just didn’t understand how Mexico could be so cold.

He tried to move out of the shade of the palm tree, turning around to see how much further he’d have to go. It wasn’t even a proper palm tree, looking closer like a cut-out from his old biology book then an actual tree.

It went up forever touching the clouds and its leaves falling across the ocean, all the way back to England. Only a tiniest smidge of sunlight breaking through.

He decided it didn’t matter, because in front of him was the ocean and this was a Mexican ocean, which wasn’t like the British ocean, but clear and blue and oh so sweet. All he’d have to do was walk out there and open his mouth. He could drink the ocean dry.

He ran to the water. Running forever. The sea was taunting him. The fish and seagulls fleeing away from him and pulling the waves with them. He didn’t see the hole in front him until the ground disappeared beneath his feet.

The water was coming back. He could hear it now. He didn’t worry about drowning, he couldn’t drown. He would drink the ocean. The water ran over him, but it didn’t enter the pit he was trapped in, washing on far above him, beyond his reach. Sealing him in.  
He cried pitifully.

“Don’t cry. I told him he should drink your blood and eat your flesh, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” Chris swirled sharply at the singsong voice. He could see her clearly even though it was dark. The blond little girl in the shiny red dress. Even her doll had teeth.  
“He likes you.” She moved towards him without taking a step and he tried to shy away, clawing at the walls around him. “Just remember. I was his friend first.”

Hands on him, shaking him, holding him down. He lashed out wildly, his fist digging in soft flesh with a satisfying crunch.

He was falling again, but this time it hurt when he hit the ground. He groaned and nurtured his painful elbow to his chest. When nothing happened he finally dared to open his eyes. After the brightness of that blonde hair, the darkness seemed almost pitch-black.  
“I was in Mexico.” He croaked.

Sam rubbed his painful nose carefully. “Trust me. Mexico is much nicer then that.”

 

Hour 88; May tenth 1973 - 23.14

“Oh God. We’re gonna die here aren’t we? We’re gonna die and they’re never gonna find our bodies and I always knew police work could be dangerous, but I figured that as long as I kept my nose clean and didn’t piss of the guv I’d be alright.” He was cut off as Sam’s hand was suddenly firmly clammed over his mouth, which wasn’t very pleasant considering he’d been scurrying through the filthy rubble for a couple of days now. The intense hazel eyes just inches away from his own were quite another story though.

“Chris, listen to me. We’re not going to die.” He had the odd feeling Sam was crying even though there were no tears.

“How do you know? They haven’t found us so far. Maybe they’ve already stopped looking.”

Sam swallowed uselessly opened his mouth to talk, before changing his mind and dragging him flush against his chest. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but Chris could still hear the little girl’s words all too clearly in his mind. He’s going to drink your blood.  
Another arm was wrapped around him as he started to struggle. Effectively trapping him. “Easy Chris. Just calm down. You’re having a panic attack.”

“You’re gonna drink my blood!”

Sam froze, but didn’t relinquish his hold. “They’re just dreams. Delusions caused by dehydration. She’s not real Chris.”

The horror of that remark send a shock wave through him. How could Sam know about the girl? Had he told him about her? He couldn’t remember.  
Dreams.  
Delusions.  
He must have told.  
Sam wouldn’t drink his blood. They were friends right?

If nothing else, this had been a bonding experience. He relaxed in his arms.

 

Hour 115; May eleventh 1973 - 2.03

A healthy adult can survive five to six days without water. How many days had it been? He’d lost count.

 

Hour 144; May twelve 1973 – 5.59

He was on the beach in Mexico again, only this time it wasn’t quite so cold and Sam was there too. Her eyes were on him constantly, but Sam had very clearly told her to piss off. He had the feeling she wouldn’t bite while they were together.

The tree’s looked different as well. No longer like cut-outs, but more like a proper tree and there were now cactuses and a red desert behind them. He figured that must have been Sams’ input, since he had no idea what Mexico was supposed to look like.

Sam was napping next him, still real close and with one arm carelessly slung over Chris’ bare belly. His swimming trunks looked a bit odd. Different then what Chris’ was used to, but maybe that was what they wore in Mexico. It wasn’t worth getting worked up about. He didn’t think he had the energy either way. He just wanted to lay here in the sand forever.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes, when Sams’ arm was roughly removed. If it was that creepy brat messing with them, she could just get lost. Go play with her stupid doll.

Someone was pulling at him now. He wanted to swat them away. Didn’t want to open his eyes.

He felt himself letting loose from the ground and he smiled as he finally understood what was happening. The waves had finally come back. He spread his arms, allowing himself to be carried away.

Didn’t it seem just right that an unstoppable force like the ocean spoke with the guv’s voice?

The end

**Author's Note:**

> I'll leave it up to the reader to decide whether or not Chris was snuggling up to a rapidly cooling corpse... 0_o And on that happy note: The end.


End file.
